


Thrice a Mother, Twice Dead

by FalconFate



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Assumed Character Death, Fake Character Death, Hiccup and Eragon have too many similarities and Murtagh teases them about it, also the title’s a good hint, based on those last three tags you can probably guess where this is headed, canon-compliant to the Inheritance Cycle, canon-compliant to the first two HTTYD movies, definitely spoilers for Inheritance Cycle, he and Hiccup have the exact same sense of humor, however there might be mild spoilers for HTTYD 3, jokes on him though, not canon compliant to HTTYD 3, post-war Inheritance Cycle, takes place before the drama of the third httyd movie but kind of after the beginning, the Crimson Goregutter is in here because I love him and we need him, the dragons are fine though, we’re working on Eragon and Murtagh’s familial relationship here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconFate/pseuds/FalconFate
Summary: More than twenty years ago, Selena of Carvahall was pronounced dead.Now, an ocean and a half away, Valka discovers that she has a more exciting history than she thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I went to see the third How To Train Your Dragon movie, and I loved it—although I want to write an essay about that ending because those FEELINGS got me in the FEELS—and I decided to take advantage of the springboard of creative energy and write this. Enjoy!

The waves of Leona Lake crashed on the pebble shore; the wind whipped a freezing spray over the lone rider whose sturdy little horse picked its way along the narrow beach. The steep foothills of the Spine loomed dark and menacing overhead, fading into the ominous gray skies. Frothing white caps crested the choppy waves of the lake, blown into a frenzy.

Ahead of horse and rider, a castle waited in the distance, briefly illuminated by an echoing crack of lightning. It was square and tall and capped by sharp points, unlit by torch or candle.

As horse and rider approached the narrow gate, the wind rose again, whistling keenly. It pulled back the rider’s hood, revealing red-brown hair and a gaunt, narrow face. Selena of Carvahall pressed on, though she could feel herself fading, fading…

The dark walls swallowed her up. The courtyard within was dark and silent and soaked; the gardener’s hut was unlit. Close to despair, Selena slid to the ground and stumbled up to the hut, knocking weakly, desperately hoping for an answer.

She knocked again.

She knocked once more, less hopeful.

She knocked one last time, but she realized, grimly, that she’d accepted her fate when she’d lost the strength to cast a flame.

It was no use opening the door, though Selena did it anyway. She’d swept her mind over it, and she could see it was empty, dark, cold. The gardener’s belongings were hastily strewn about, as if he’d packed in a hurry.

Perhaps he’d gone after her, in the wrong direction.

Turning away, Selena forced her stone-heavy feet to carry her through the pouring rain back to her horse’s side. She led him into the dark stable, fumbled with the buckles of his girth and bridle, and turned him into a stall.

Through the door into the castle proper, Selena finally found a light. She took the torch from the wall and began to ascend the stairs, one painful step at a time. Somewhere between the third and fourth landings she had to stop and nearly double over, retching and coughing. Blood spattered on the floor and her hand; she wiped it away tiredly.

Perhaps she should have waited to leave; but if she had, she might never have left at all. She had more than one son that needed her.

Finally, she came to a lit corridor. Two austere wings of living quarters stretched away in either direction; only one had torches lit outside of the bedchamber.

Selena left her torch by the stairs and hurried to the door as best she could, stumbling over her own tired feet. It was locked, she realized, but from the outside; she choked back a sob as she forced it open and slipped inside.

The room was too large and cold for a boy of three, and no fire burned in the fireplace. A single dim candle glowed from beside the narrow bed, illuminating a pale face and gray covers pulled to the chin.

It took all that Selena had to keep herself upright until she reached the edge of the bed. She finally let herself rest, drinking in the sight of Murtagh’s face, letting one trembling hand card through his dark hair.

Murtagh’s eyes blinked blearily open. “Mom?” he said, in a voice quiet and scratchy from sleep.

“My son,” Selena whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb. She felt all the love she had in her soul bubble up in her chest, soothing the ache in her lungs and bones and making itself known in an irresistible smile. “Murtagh, I’m home.”

Murtagh stared at her, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether or not he was dreaming. He sat up slowly, clenching the covers tight in his fists as his eyes grew shiny. “Where did you go?” he asked, his voice small.

“Somewhere far away,” said Selena, “too far from you, but far enough from here. I’ll take you there someday.”

“Is father coming with us?” Murtagh asked.

Selena remembered the last time she’d seen Morzan, a cyclone of rage and destruction and hate. She remembered the clean white bandages around Murtagh’s back soaked with so much blood, too much blood. She remembered Morzan’s pretty words when she’d met him, and his manipulative games as he drew her closer and magicked her into his service.

“He won’t be coming with us,” Selena said firmly. Her heart broke at the relieved slump of Murtagh’s shoulders, and she gently pulled him into an embrace, humming her mother’s lullaby, ignoring the way her voice wobbled and the tears that fell on the gray blankets.

* * *

 Selena doubted that she herself would go anywhere. She’d been bedridden in the week since her return, growing weaker and weaker, coughing up blood. The few servants that staffed the castle had no medical expertise, and no doctor that Selena trusted was close enough to fetch. The one girl who had looked after Murtagh’s scraped knees and sniffles was at a loss for why Selena, as strong as she was, would be ill.

(Selena knew. Any doctor with half a mind would know. But no one else could know, lest they ask questions, or worse, tell Morzan.)

She felt herself slipping away. Slipping away, the way she’d done when Morzan had left; the way she’d done when Garrow and Marian had promised to care for Eragon. She had promised to return; promised to see Eragon’s face again, and see him grow up without the fear his brother knew too well. She had promised herself to bring Murtagh there, once she’d unraveled the spells Morzan had knotted around him.

Selena realized, now, that she wouldn’t get to keep those promises. So she held Murtagh’s hand tightly with her own, her heart heavy at the irony that the most time she got with him was as she was dying.

Since she had returned, it had stormed constantly, without a break of light. Murtagh said that the sky was sad.

One night, after Murtagh had been sent to bed, and Selena felt her fever rising, the wind broke through the shutters of the balcony. It howled into the room where she lay, blowing out the candles and guttering the fire in the hearth before fully extinguishing it. In a belated daze, Selena lifted her head from the blankets; she had no voice to call for a servant, and no strength to call on magic. With leaden limbs, she slowly pushed away the blankets and rose on unsteady legs, stumbling to the balcony, instantly shivering, coughing with every breath.

It took several seconds of leaning against the frame of the door that led to the balcony to study the shutters, and realize there was no easy way to fix and close them. They hung from their hinges, battered and cracked, swinging wildly in the wind. Rain was pouring in, bound to flood the room; Selena realized dazedly that it had already soaked through her woolen shirt and leggings, and strands of her hair were stuck to her face.

Shivering violently now, Selena made to step back inside, thinking to take as many blankets as she could carry—it wouldn’t be many—and find refuge in Murtagh’s room, if she could make it that far. She lifted her foot to take a step, wobbling on a shaking knee.

The wind gusted furiously, suddenly strong enough to emphasize Selena’s imbalance. Before she’d even realized that she’d begun to fall, Selena had stumbled to the waist-high balcony rail, slipped, and been flung into empty air over the stormy lake.

* * *

 A low, early-morning fog hovered over still black water. The three-time beat of an ironshod canter, accompanied by the scattering hiss of a disturbed pebble beach, echoed in the gray. The shadow of a rider and horse swept through the mist, and a tall shadow loomed in the near distance.

Fog rolled and thinned, revealing the same narrow gate another rider on horseback had so recently ridden through. The newcomer was hell-bent for leather, blazing into the courtyard, sparks flying off the cobblestones. He pulled the horse up, frothing at the mouth, to a violently sliding stop at the ornate door into the mansion keep, jumping from the saddle and sprinting inside, up the stairs, not noticing the way the castle was too quiet, too dark, too still, even for how few Morzan had kept his staff.

He raced through the halls and rooms, crying out in desperation, “Selena! Selena, I’m here! Where are you?”

He searched every room, every floor, every hidden hallway. He found no servants in the kitchens, no horses in the stable; he even burst into the gardener’s cottage where he’d lived for far too long, his heart, hammering in his chest, beginning to sink to his stomach.

Finally, he saw it. In the garden, beneath a tree with wilted flowers, stood a headstone that had not been there before. It was hastily, dispassionately chiseled, with letters that would fade within a year of weather:

_The Black Hand of Morzan_

Brom sank to his knees before it. For a brief, shining moment, he’d been happy; he’d had dreams, of escaping the war, leaving his hatred behind. But here were his dreams, shattered once again in a death not his own. He saw once again his friends, slaughtered by the Forsworn; he saw his dear blue Saphira, gutted and broken.

And now here was Selena, gone from him forever.

* * *

≈≈≈≈^⁄\≈≈≈≈

* * *

Some time later, an ocean and a half away, a new day dawned on a tiny little island. It was an island where it snowed nine months out of the year, and hailed the other three. On this island was a village, six generations old, but with buildings that were all entirely new.

As fishermen of the village busied themselves on the dock, a cry of alarm came from one of those near the beach. “A body on the beach!” someone shouted.

“Is it from the dragon attacks last night?”

“Who did the headcount last night?”

“Looks like she’s washed on shore—she’s not one of ours!”

“Is she still breathing?”

“Bring her to Gothi, quick!”

A crowded knot of burly warriors accompanied the woman up the docks and into the village; gossiping amongst themselves and loathe to leave information behind, the fishermen reluctantly got back to work.

The unconscious woman was brought to a hut at the tallest height of the village. The house was little more than a boat, seemingly shipwrecked at the peak of the mountain, fashioned into a serviceable home. The little gray-haired woman who lived within beckoned the warriors inside, where they lay the woman on a makeshift bed.

The little old woman then shooed the warriors away, and set about caring for her new patient.

* * *

For several weeks, the unknown woman’s life hung in a delicate balance. But Gothi was a skilled medicine-woman, well-practiced in impossible tasks of healing. Slowly, very slowly, but surely her patient regained strength.

The young chief of the village every so often came to visit, not only for his duty to those under his care, or under the care of his people, but also out of a curiosity to know who this woman was, where she came from. He was sure that the strength of this woman to survive the freezing, dragon-infested waters and a three-fold illness must have been extraordinary.

It was just the chief’s luck that the woman finally stirred to life during one of his visits. Gothi shooed him out of the woman’s space, letting him hover at the edge of the room as she fussed over her patient.

Soon enough Gothi had the woman sitting up, propped up by pillows and sheepskins, with a mug of something hot and mildly bitter in her hands. The woman thanked her with a somber voice, quiet and hoarse from disuse.

The chief came closer and sat near the edge of the bed; Gothi glared at him in a clear warning not to rile up her patient. He smiled at her reassuringly, and turned his attention to the woman on the bed. “It seems you’re feeling some better,” he said kindly. “My name is Stoick. I’m the chief of Berk, which is where you are now. We were all glad to hear you’d make a full recovery since we pulled you out of the water weeks ago.”

The woman inclined her head. “I thank your people for saving my life,” she said, her words slow and carefully chosen. Her face then clouded. “I would offer you my name as well, but I’m afraid… I’m afraid I have no memory of it, nor of where I come from.”

“No name at all?” Stoick asked, shocked.

The woman shook her head.

Stoick exchanged a look with Gothi, who shrugged; she could bring someone back from near-death, but memories were different. The chief smiled reassuringly at the unnamed woman. “Well, you are welcome to stay here, in Berk, until your memory returns—and after, of course, as long as you like.”

The woman gave him a grateful smile, which lit up her solemn face in the most beautiful way Stoick had ever seen. “Thank you,” she said, with such sincere gratitude that the weight of it hung in the air.

* * *

As the woman’s strength returned, her memories did not, nor did her name. But she soon proved herself to be sturdy and stubborn, with a sharp mind and a quick wit to keep up with Stoick’s banter. She was given the nickname Valka, if only to have something to call her by, after Stoick once joked that she must have been a Valkyrie fallen in battle. 

And as Valka settled in Berk, her own desire to remember her past was tempered by the friendship and warmth she found in the present. Her new friendships grew stronger by the hour; her connection with Stoick became particularly close, and soon after, when he asked to marry her, it was without hesitation that she said yes.

In due time, they had a child; a boy born too early, so small in Valka’s arms, but stubbornly clinging to life. She was so scared she might lose him, but Stoick never lost faith in their little boy—their Hiccup.

And when a dragon with four great wings carried Valka away, Stoick’s great heart broke at the loss of his love; and Valka’s, too, broke at the thought that she might never see Stoick or her son ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eragon and Saphira have been sent on a quest to the far side of the world; they decide to bring company.

Two great dragons of sapphire and rosy hues soared over the endless expanse of ocean, glittering in the summer sun. The endless world was theirs to know and find, and the souls of their elders had sent them on a search for a particular chain of islands on the far side of the world.

“What was it you said we were looking for, again?” shouted the Rider of the red dragon.

“I’m not entirely sure,” the Rider of the blue called back. “Umaroth just told us we needed to find the truth, and gave me a vision of a map.”

“And why are you bringing us along?”

The blue Rider shrugged. “It was Saphira’s idea, and the Eldunarí agreed. Besides, you’d already dealt with that witch in the north, and we haven’t seen each other in years—also, you didn’t say no.”

The red Rider laughed. “I suppose that’s true.”

The red dragon beneath him rumbled contentedly. _I was quite pleased to be invited,_ he admitted.

His Rider smiled. “I know you were, love.”

Beside them, the blue dragon twitched her wings to pass over a flock of birds. _What I’d like to know,_ she said, running her barbed tongue over ivory teeth, _is how far to our next stop? Flying for as many days as we have is hardly the greatest of our accomplishments, but even our smallest feats need fuel and rest._

The red dragon made a noise of agreement. _Yes! And I’m sure you two-leggers could use a walk around after… how long have we been in the air?_

 _Eight days,_ the blue dragon informed him.

 _Yes, eight days. Goodness, eight days?! Ha! Not even big-black-throne-shadow ever flew that long,_ the red said smugly.

A new voice resounded in all of their heads. _The archipelago we seek begins soon. The nearest island is a tall spur of rock, with room enough for both of you younglings to stand, perhaps… hmm… another half day’s flight at our pace._

“Half of twenty-four hours or half the time of daylight, Glaedr-elda?” asked the blue rider.

 _Half of twenty-four hours,_ Glaedr answered.

The blue dragon grinned toothily. _What do you think of cutting that time in half, red-wing-brother-Thorn?_ she asked.

Thorn, the red dragon, grinned in delighted reply. _Is that a challenge, blue-wing-sister-Saphira?_

The Riders on their backs exchanged knowing glances.

The blue dragon Saphira arched her neck and roared, and Thorn roared in reply; then they angled their wings to gain greater speed and streak away forward, their Riders whooping with delight, the wind whistling by them, and the cold unnoticed through the web of protective magics that surrounded them.

* * *

The sun was only just approaching the horizon when the island came into sight. It was, as Glaedr had said, little more than a pillar of rock stretching into the sky, topped by exactly two tall pine trees and a carpet of grass. When they neared it, Thorn hung back to let Saphira land first; she batted her wings to hover over it like a hummingbird, until her talons could find a good grip on the rocks. She let her Rider dismount before she wound herself around one of the trees, to give Thorn enough room to do the same.

Once they were sure-footed on the island, the dragons let themselves flop to the ground. They made a circle, nose-to-tail, so that their Riders had to carefully step over their snouts to start a fire and make camp in the center of their living protective ring.

Saphira left the island briefly to hunt, and returned with two enormous fish, or maybe even sharks, in her jaws. She gave one to Thorn, and they each tore into their meal while their Riders ate dried fruit and hardtack.

As the sky grew dark, the soft breathing of the dragons turned into the deep rumbling of gentle dragon snoring—of course, gentle only meant strong enough to vibrate the rocks but not dislodge them. Eragon sat at Saphira’s shoulder, his legs stretched out toward the fire. He had a chunk of hardwood in his hands, which he whittled at with a small sharp knife. He wasn’t sure yet what he wanted it to be.

His brother sat across the fire, closer to the flame since Thorn was coiled tighter around it than Saphira. Thorn’s wing was wrapped around Murtagh like a child’s arm around a toy; Murtagh’s hand scratched idly at the tiny, glittering scales as he stared into the fire, his expression unreadable.

But he was awake, so Eragon took a breath and asked, “What do you think we’ll find?”

Murtagh looked up. “What do you mean?”

Eragon shrugged. “I mean that Umaroth told us to ‘find the truth.’ His exact words. What sort of truth are we going to find on the other side of the world?”

“Maybe you should sleep on it,” Murtagh suggested. “And get a mysterious dream about it, like you did with Arya.”

Eragon chuckled. “Actually, those were visions from the Eldunarí,” he admitted. “They can stretch their minds across the world and see _everything._ Since we’ve settled on the Arngor Mountain, they’ve showed me how to do the same.”

Murtagh squinted at him suspiciously. “Is that how you knew where to find us?”

“No, we found a trail of broodiness and angst and followed that,” Eragon deadpanned.

Thorn snorted a fireball as he laughed. Murtagh gasped at him, “Betrayal! I thought we were friends!”

 _We are friends, my broody little Rider,_ Thorn said with a mental snicker. He said to Eragon, _There were some weeks that he had a routine of brooding. He would wake up, eat, and then sit on a rock somewhere for hours at a time. You could_ **_smell_ ** _the angst rolling off of him._

Murtagh rolled his eyes. “Exaggeration,” he scoffed.

 _Complete truth,_ Thorn said seriously. _I never lie. Unless you ask me if I ate a small creature you two-leggers call adorable. Then I might lie._

Saphira hummed. _Don’t bother,_ she said. _They get over it eventually._

“You know we hear you, right?” said Eragon.

Saphira winked at him.

Eragon sighed, but he was smiling. “In seriousness, though—yes, we were keeping tabs on you. Not spying, just… checking in. I wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.”

Murtagh blinked. “I’m touched,” he said. He rubbed circles over Thorn’s scales. “Just… out of curiosity… what did you see?”

Eragon scratched his chin, thinking back. “Not a lot,” he admitted. “I first saw you in Ceunon, at the inn. I check on Essie every now and then, too.” He saw Murtagh smile at the mention of the fierce little girl. “And after that, whenever I checked on you it was usually when you were camping, or in disguise in town. I did catch your gratitude feast after defeating the witch, though,” he said, snickering when Murtagh groaned and hid his face in his hands. “You gave a lovely speech.”

“That was the _worst_ day of my year,” Murtagh groaned through his fingers. “Worse even than fighting the witch. I would have rather gone toe-to-toe with a dozen Ra’zac than give that speech.”

“Hey, it didn’t kill you,” Eragon laughed.

“No, I only died of embarrassment.” Murtagh fell back against Thorn’s shoulder, sliding his hands down his face and staring up at the stars. His expression grew somber. “Eragon, do you…” he started, but then he hesitated.

Eragon looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Do you ever think… she’s watching over us? Mom, I mean. I sometimes wonder what she would think of the two of us, how we turned out.”

Eragon looked up at the stars, gleaming in the night. “Well… the elves don’t really believe in an afterlife. And I never knew Mom, so I don’t know if she believed in that sort of thing. But from what I’ve heard of her… I think she’d love us. She _did_ love us. She went through hell just to give us a chance at something better than Galbatorix’s kingdom…”

“You don’t think she would have abandoned us?” Murtagh asked quietly.

Eragon looked at his brother, who was studying the stars with too much intensity. “All I know of her is what I’ve been told, by Brom and Oromis,” he said slowly. “And one of the things Oromis placed importance on was the fact that the only reason she was able to change and free herself was because of how much she loved you.” Murtagh looked at Eragon, eyes wide. Eragon continued, “If it weren’t for you, I either wouldn’t exist, or we would have both grown up under Morzan.”

Murtagh swallowed thickly. “I didn’t know that,” he said, his voice suddenly small and strained. He stared into the fire; Eragon could almost see his mind whirling with new information.

Eragon stifled a yawn. “I’m going to sleep,” he mumbled, shimmying himself underneath Saphira’s wing.

“Good night,” said Murtagh.

“Good night,” Eragon replied through another yawn.

* * *

As days continued passing, the brothers flew over islands with increasing frequency. They also began to pass ships, built in unfamiliar styles; they flew as high as they could when they saw them, wary of strangers.

But one foggy day, with no one and no land in sight, Saphira suddenly pulled up short, backwinging to hover in place. Eragon would have been thrown out of the saddle if not for being tied to it; ahead, Thorn wheeled about with a surprised expression.

 _What did you see?_ asked the red dragon.

Saphira was staring at the water below them. _There are dragons in the ocean!_ she exclaimed.

 _Do you mean Nïdwhal?_ Eragon asked doubtfully.

 _Dragons,_ Saphira insisted. _These are dragons! Look!_

As the two dragons hung suspended over the water, their Riders craned their necks over the dragons’ shoulders to look below. For a moment, they saw nothing but the ocean and scraps of fog. Until, suddenly—

 _There!_ Saphira exclaimed, twitching her tail and shifting in the air to give her Rider a better view. Below them, dark shadows breached the surface, as they’d seen many whales and dolphins do already on this quest; but these were not whales or dolphins, or even sharks. They were _massive_ , with long necks and tails, narrow heads, wide bodies, and _wings_ that they used to glide through the water. Their scales varied in color from green to blue to even purple; as they began to dive below the surface again, their dark colors blended into the water.

But one of them, with dark indigo scales, didn’t immediately join the others. It looked up and caught sight of them, its yellow eyes lighting up. It bellowed a greeting, and sprayed a burst of water at them; and then it sank back into the sea, disappearing into the dark.

Eragon followed them with his mind, and they greeted him cheerfully. Their wordless sentiment of Dragon Riders was positive, though they were now surprised at contact by one. “They really are dragons!” he exclaimed.

“You’re certain?” Murtagh asked in awe.

 _This must be what Umaroth wanted us to find!_ said Saphira. _These dragons have seen dragons with Riders before—we must be supposed to find them!_

The dragons and Riders were so excited at the idea, they didn’t notice the shadow of a ship stealing through the mist, armed with cages and crossbows.

* * *

Hiccup and Astrid had been tracking the single ship for several hours. It was a small craft, especially for a dragon-trapper, but it was fast, and sailed by a clever captain. They hadn’t actually caught full sight of it yet; when they’d finally seen a brief glimpse of it, the ship was already disappearing into a thick bank of fog.

Stormfly, dedicated tracker that she was, had no trouble finding the trail, but Hiccup and Astrid decided to hang back a little, preferring caution over a brazen attack; having learned from far too much experience, they didn’t rule out the possibility that the ship’s crew already knew they were being followed. All of this they decided without words, and little more than a look and a nod between them.

So they tailed the ship through the gray, flying high, the riders marking their quarry’s position by the stirring eddies made by the mast as it cut through the fog. But even that they lost sight of as the ship sailed into even thicker fog, a huge mass of it towering above them. They followed Stormfly’s nose, deep into a hazy world of gray shadows.

“If we attack now, we might still have the element of surprise,” Hiccup told Astrid quietly.

“I agree,” she hissed back. “I’ll take them from this side, you fly ahead and attack from the front.”

Hiccup nodded in acknowledgement, and Toothless sped away silently. They passed the blurry shadow of the mast and slowed, ready to turn and attack—

Chaos suddenly erupted from the ship, the shouts of sailors and the startled roar of what had to be a dragon. The surprised tone turned to outrage, and orange flames suddenly illuminated the fog, outlining the dark silhouettes of the ship and two huge dragons tangled in nets.

“Now, Toothless!” Hiccup cried as the light faded and the shadows disappeared. The Night Fury snarled in agreement and tucked in his wings, whistling as he drew on his flame. He fired a bolt of purple-white plasma and it exploded on the deck of the ship, while at the same time a swath of flame was drawn from the opposite end of the ship up to the top of the mast, igniting the sail.

Toothless wheeled in the fog and dived at the ship again, landing another bolt of fire and dropping to the deck, baring his teeth. Hiccup drew his sword and leapt off of Toothless’s back; Astrid landed on the deck beside him, axe in hand. With a fierce battle cry they charged the sailors holding the nets, while Toothless and Stormfly leapt over their heads and batted away the dragon-trappers by the cages.

Two furious roars echoed again in the fog, and the boat rocked wildly as _something_ slammed into it. As Hiccup parried an enemy away, he saw huge claws grip the rail of the ship, biting deep into the wood; and then a huge blue head with an expression of pure wrath rose above it, ivory teeth bared and spitting blue flame.

A smaller figure landed on the deck beside the blue dragon’s head, brandishing a sword and immediately locking blades with the nearest dragon-trapper. From above, the mast creaked and groaned in protest of a sudden new weight; a glittering scarlet tail draped its length, and from it dropped another figure with a sword.

Hiccup didn’t see more after that, caught up again in battle. He fought his way toward the cages and struck them open as he passed them, releasing a handful of Nadders, two young Scuttleclaws, and—of all the dragons to be at sea—a Sand Wraith.

Angered at the loss of their catch, the ship’s captain finally appeared: a tall woman with a wickedly-curved blade, backed by three more equally-intimidating warriors. “You’ll pay for that, dragon rider!” she snarled at Hiccup, charging him.

Ducking out of the way of her first blow, Hiccup rolled to the side and released his sword’s Zippleback gas; then he ignited the blade of his sword and smirked at the resulting explosion. His smile dropped when he saw the captain, casually brushing flame from her sleeve, unbothered and raising her sword to strike again.

Hiccup gritted his teeth and braced himself to parry and counterattack—when a sword swathed in blue flame suddenly appeared between them! Its wielder’s face was cut of stark shadows and bright blue light, fierce and inhuman in the fire and smoke as he engaged the captain. The captain’s face turned from anger to shock to fear as the unknown swordsman pressed her back, exchanging blow after blow until, with a sudden _CRACK,_ half of the captain’s sword spun away, disappearing into the fog, while what was left of it smoked in her hands.

The captain made the wise decision to retreat into the fog.

“Hiccup!” Astrid called from above him. “Let’s go!”

Hiccup looked at the swordsman beside him, whose sword was still glowing with blue fire. “Do you need a ride out of here?” Hiccup asked.

The swordsman shook his head. “She’s my ride,” he said, gesturing to the blue dragon who was now balanced on the ship’s railing, her teeth bared at anyone who came too close.

Toothless appeared at Hiccup’s side, and the swordsman vaulted onto the shoulders of the unfamiliar dragon. The dragons rose into the fog, the blue dragoness spraying blue fire over the ship as a parting gift; Astrid signalled their heading, and they joined the mass of winged shadows disappearing into the murky horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I having too much fun with this? Absolutely.  
> Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated!


End file.
